


"It’s a lot shorter than I was expecting.”

by Mangokiwitropicalswirl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangokiwitropicalswirl/pseuds/Mangokiwitropicalswirl
Summary: This is a short drabble in response to the title prompt





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short drabble in response to the title prompt

When Mulder returns to the basement from his afternoon meeting, Scully is unexpectedly absent. He wracks his brain, trying to remember if she’s been scheduled for an autopsy somewhere, or is attending a conference he’s forgotten about. It isn’t like her to be gone without reminding him of her plans. 

Most mornings lately they give each other a little rundown of their days’ events while they each inhale a first cup of coffee. This little ritual had become even more crucial during their days on desk duty when Kersh had seemed to relish the torment he caused whenever he gave them separate assignments. Although he’d wisely stopped that practice after the incident with Ritter last winter. 

But their morning check-in habit had stuck. Now, Mulder’s day didn’t officially begin until he’d eaten his everything bagel off a napkin spread out on his desk as he listened to Scully recite her daily to-do list while she spooned out her tiny cup of yogurt. This morning, she’d mentioned something about working on a monograph on the psychotropic effects of the giant fungal organism that had ensnared them a few months ago. And because they weren’t doing much field work while Mulder recovered from the makeshift brain surgery he’d recently been subject to, he had few plans other than to scour cases for new leads into the nefarious strangers that had taken him. 

Where is she? Mulder’s heart rate picks up slightly after half an hour has passed and there is still no sign of her. He feels a tiny bit ridiculous for worrying so much, but given all they’ve been through, he knows not to ignore his concerns. Plus, he can’t help but think back on all that recent talk of constants and touchstones and his thumbs caressing her cheeks and her lips on his forehead and his long gaze as her eyes brimmed with tears while they’d stood in his doorway. 

He rolls his eyes at himself, at his own anxiety, lets out a long breath and reaches for his cell phone.

“Scully?” He asks, concern heavy in his voice, when she picks up after the second ring. “Where are you?”

He hears a slight sniffle before her hesitant reply.

“I’m, um, I’m home. I wasn’t feeling well after lunch.”

“Why didn’t you let me know? Do you need me to bring you anything?” Mulder’s tone is genuine and tender.

“It’s no big deal,” she protests, “not worth worrying about. I just thought I would take the afternoon off.”

“Let me bring you some soup,” Mulder offers randomly, “Do you want soup? Is it a cold?”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. It’s not a cold.” Scully puts on her typical standoffish response. “Don’t come over, Mulder. It’s okay, really.”

Mulder knows this tone well, though, and before she can deflect him again, he’s standing up and reaching for his coat, halfway to the door. “I’m coming over, Scully.”

***

When he gets to her place, he hastily uses his key while simultaneously knocking to let her know he’s on his way in. “Scully?”

Her apartment is dark, her shoes strewn carelessly in the entryway. “Are you here?” He calls out, his concern increasing as he peers into the dark of her living room.

“I’m here Mulder.” Her voice wavers, coming from the direction of the kitchen. He swings around and sees her sitting with her head in her hands at the kitchen table.

“Scully, what’s wrong?” He can feel the dark mood radiating off her in waves.

“Mulder, it’s so stupid. Just go back to the office.” Her voice is muffled as she peers at him through her fingers, her eyes staring down at the table. Mulder notices the open bottle of wine sitting next to her, and a nearly empty glass next to that, its rim smudged with the color of Scully’s workday lipstick.

“You said you weren’t sick, but something is obviously wrong,” Mulder presses her, his panic rising, “you have to tell me. Is it the cancer again?” He feels his blood go cold.

Scully lets out a sharp laugh and collapses her head down onto the table, into her folded arms. She shakes her head back and forth and meekly answers, “No.” 

Her voice is muffled even more now and he can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying, just that her shoulders are quivering in time to the awkward sounds she is making.

Mulder swallows his fears and plunks down in the chair next to her. “Scully, you have got to tell me what is going on.” He is pleading now, his hand resting tenderly on her shoulder.

She raises her head and her face is a mess of blotchy tears and smeared mascara, but she seems to be laughing. “Mulder,” she sighs, smiling, “look at me.”

He just stares, raising an eyebrow and waiting for what she’ll say next.

“Look at my hair.”

He tilts his head one direction and then another, suddenly aware there must be something different that he should be noticing, but not quite sure what it is. “Um, yeah?”

“Do you notice anything different?” she asks.

“Well,” he trods carefully, “did you do something new with your hair?”

“Um, you could say that!” 

“It looks a little shorter, I guess,” Mulder adds.

“A little shorter?!” Scully blurts out. “It’s a lot shorter than I was expecting!”

“Are you telling me that you’re staying home today because of a bad haircut?” Mulder prods, almost disbelieving.

“No, I… it’s just,” Scully sniffles, then nods with a shrug, “I guess I am. It’s so silly, I know. I don’t think I’m vain or anything, but, I guess I’ve always felt protective of my hair.”

“So you had a haircut you didn’t like,” Mulder shrugs, “I’m sure it can’t have been the first?”

“True,” Scully replies, “but I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the office until I figured out how to fix it. So I came home.”

“So you came home.” Mulder repeats, nodding. Smiling, Mulder suddenly sees a side of Scully he had never stopped to imagine existing. This was the Scully who cared how she looked beyond her nondescript autopsy bay scrubs. The Scully whose suits had over the years gotten more and more closely tailored. The Scully whose clunky shoes had given way to the stacked heels she was now so adept at wearing. The Scully who ran home to drown her sorrows after a particularly bad haircut.

He hadn’t thought it possible to love her more than he already did, but something about seeing this feminine vulnerability, her ordinary vanity, makes his heart swell a little.

“Scully,” he bends his head to look at her downcast eyes and gives her a small smile. “I think it looks fine. Really. It’ll grow.”

“I know it’ll grow, Mulder,” she rolls her eyes. “Just let me wallow in the misery of a bad haircut, please.”

“I can always loan you my Yankees cap until it grows out, you know.”

“I may take you up on that,” Scully smirks.

He looks at her softly again. “I like it, Scully, I really do.” He gently curves his hand over the crown of her head, fingering a few tendrils of hair. “It suits you.”

“If you say so,” she breathes out, brushing off the compliment as if it were itself a stray hair.

“I mean it,” Mulder presses further, “I love your hair, however you cut it or don’t cut it.”

Scully’s eyes widen as she realizes Mulder is heading straight for the territory of sincerity they usually avoid. 

“Thank you,” she answers, meeting his gaze as the moment seems to slow. Mulder’s fingers are still intertwined with two strands of her hair and he reluctantly lets them go, bringing his hand down to cover hers as it lays on the table.

“Now will you come back to work?” He asks teasingly. “We don’t both want to be gone too long or people will start talking.”

“We couldn’t have that,” Scully answers, giving his hand a squeeze as she rises from the table. 

“Definitely not.” Mulder strides alongside her as she walks over to slip on her shoes. “And don’t worry, I’ll drive you. I wouldn’t want the afternoon wine break to cause any trouble.”

“I think wine breaks are the least of our troubles now, Mulder,” Scully teases, pulling on her coat, a hint of some new mischief in her eyes. 

“You don’t say, Agent Scully?” Mulder smiles, taking hold of her hand as she turns to lock the door behind them. And as they make their way down her familiar hallway, he doesn’t let go.


End file.
